


Sacrifice 104

by ReesieReads



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Della Duck, Background Donald Duck, Blood, Blood and Injury, Crying, Dewey Duck Needs a Hug, Dewey Duck-centric, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt Louie Duck, Louie Duck Needs a Hug, Older Sibling Huey Duck, Parent Della Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Physical hurt, Self-Esteem Issues, Thoughts of Self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReesieReads/pseuds/ReesieReads
Summary: Dewey and Louie are almost made sacrifices yet again and it’s up to Dewey to find some way to save them.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Louie Duck
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116





	Sacrifice 104

Dewey couldn’t move.

His arms were pinned at his sides, nylon rope digging into his feathers and burning his skin. It wasn’t a surprise to him though, he had gotten used to waking up to the feeling a long time ago. Once you get sacrificed a few dozen times, the whole thing really loses its charm.

_ “Oh man, not again!” _

Dewey jumped, looking to his left to see Louie tied up in a bundle of ropes. The duckling’s feathers were sticking up in random places, and a harsh bruise was forming on his forehead. He glared at the spot for a moment,  _ furious  _ someone would  _ dare  _ touch his baby brother.

The youngest triplet hadn’t seemed to notice him yet, too busy struggling against the rope. Dewey didn’t bother trying to grab his attention. Louie would notice eventually, and he knew better than to talk and risk getting hurt. ‘Sacrifices were supposed to suffer silently’ according to some Goon from his last sacrifice.

“Dewe-“

_ “Shhh!” _

Louie blinked at him owlishly, taken-aback. Sighing, Dewey mouthed  _ ‘no talking, too risky.’  _ Lots of practice in school had made the triplets wonderful lip-readers. The younger duckling scowled, (most likely angry that he couldn’t use his sharpest weapon) but made no move to speak.

Looking around them, Dewey was disappointed to find nothing of use. The goons had tossed them next to a random tree, chaining their feet to some sort of wooden fence-thing (knowing the names of things was Huey’s thing).

Using his bound legs to drag himself forward, Dewey peeked around the side of the tree they had been tossed up against. Just as he had suspected, the camp was right next to them. Colorful tents made of furs or fabrics were all pitched around a blazing fire, a ginormous cauldron hanging over it from a make-shift pulley system.

A robin donning emerald green tribal robes stood on the opposite side of their tree (if they were going to be tied to it, then it might as well have been there’s), her legs mere inches from Dewey’s beak. 

He was tempted to just try and fight her, to use his fists and push his way through the problem rather than trying (and inevitably failing) to think it through. And if Dewey were alone, he probably  _ would  _ have. Because once you reach a certain amount of sacrifices, you have to find new ways to make things interesting.

But Dewey  _ wasn’t  _ alone,  _ Louie  _ was with him, and he would never risk his brother’s safety for some adrenaline high.

Quickly shuffling back into his place before, he spared a glance at his little brother. The duckling’s eyes were half-lidded (from exhaustion or boredom Dewey couldn’t tell) and his hands were clenched in small fists behind his back.

“Lou?” Dewey whispered, as softly as he could, deciding to risk getting caught to make sure his brother was okay, “you good?”

Nodding, Louie winced, “my head hurts,” he mumbled.

Dewey could relate, his head pounding harshly ever since he’d woken up. The afternoon sun only seemed to make things worse, straining his vision and attacking his senses. If Huey were there he probably would have spouted out some sort of medical-fact, talking all about the side-effects and other weird nerd-stuff.

Huey  _ wasn’t  _ there though, which meant that it was up to him, as the second oldest brother, to get them out of their current situation.

“Mom and everyone will be here soon,” Dewey whispered to his brother, recalling all the previous times he’d been saved mid-sacrifice in the past, “we’re gonna be fine.

He could only hope he was right.

-

It was sunset before Dewey finally admitted to himself that no one was coming.

Normally, it would have taken the family an hour  _ at most  _ to come save him. It had been far longer than that by now, and as it got later a cool breeze had started to set in. His stomach was cramping with hunger, and in a few hours Dewey had a bad feeling it was going to get  _ cold.  _

Louie had been completely silent the entire wait, knees brought up to his chest the best they could be while he leaned against the tree. The duckling looked  _ miserable,  _ and Dewey felt guilty for letting his baby brother suffer under his watch. If Huey had been taken instead of him, Louie would be warm and safe in the plane by now, not freezing against a tree.

“Do you think they forgot about us?” Louie croaked, voice raspy from the lack of use.

Dewey wanted to say no, to push away his little brother’s worries with comforting words and assurances like Huey always did. But he had never been very good with words, and he found it hard to form an argument for something he hardly believed himself.

“I don’t know,” Dewey said finally, opting to just be honest, “I hope not.”

Louie frowned, glancing at him with tired eyes. And maybe it was the fact that they were likely going to be killed and eaten in a few hours, or maybe it was the fact that their family had maybe forgotten all about them, but whatever it was led Dewey to ask: “Am I a bad brother?”

The younger duckling’s eyes widened, quickly going to reply, “Dewey you-“

Then there was a spear against Louie’s throat.

Time seemed to slow as the sharpened metal gleamed against the duckling’s neck. One wrong move and Dewey would no longer be the middle triplet. Louie froze against the piece of metal, eyes wide and dazed, like he had decided to mentally check out rather than deal with the horror of reality.

Dewey wished he could join him.

Checking out wasn’t an option though, not with Louie so close to instant-death. Looking over the guard wielding the end of the spear, Dewey was surprised to see the same exact Robin he had caught guarding them before. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes, and her hands shook against the spear handle ever-so-slightly.

He could ‘Pull a Louie’ and try to talk to the guard-lady, maybe manipulate her into letting them go by mentioning the awful way she was being treated.

But Dewey really didn’t think he was sharp enough for that. Unlike his brother, lying was incredibly difficult for him, much less twisting his words to convince someone of something. While Louie could very easily convince someone that elephants were pink if he tried hard enough, all Dewey would manage to do is make himself look like an idiot.

So ‘seeing the angles’ was out of the question.

Perhaps he could ‘Pull a Huey’ then, using some sort of witty comment to distract the guard. But yet again, Dewey found himself paling in comparison to his older brother. Dewey Duck was many things, but  _ witty  _ was not one of them, and if he tried the only thing he would manage is probably getting both him  _ and  _ Louie killed.

The idea of doing anything like his brother had been a stretch anyway.

The best bet Dewey had was probably to ‘Pull a Webby,’ and find some way to maneuver his body to kick the spear away, before fighting the guard in some super cool way even though his hands were tied behind his back. But the idea was so absurd that he immediately wrote it off, unlike Webby, Dewey didn’t have ten years of spy training. He would probably just get himself hurt trying.

At least the thought of doing it sounded cool.

But no, Dewey couldn’t copy any of his siblings (likely more effective) ways of handling a situation. They all had practical, useful skills that Dewey just…  _ didn’t.  _ As much as he adored dancing, singing, and acting, none of those skills were exactly useful in a life or death situation. Except….

Dewey had an idea. A dangerous, likely stupid, and almost guaranteed to kill them idea, but it was an idea nevertheless.

He was gonna Dewey it.

-

Admittedly, not the greatest idea.

Without giving himself much time to think about it, Dewey sucked in a large breath and let out a long, ear-piercing scream. All that practice at that hotel with the ex-movie maker when they were younger had really made us scream movie worthy. 

The guard flinched, and Louie let out a cry as the spear slipped from her hand, the blade cutting into the duckling’s throat. The tool luckily didn’t get  _ stuck  _ there, landing into the grass with a soft clank, but Dewey didn’t like the way that blood was already starting to trickle down from the fresh wound.

Of course Dewey couldn’t save his brother properly. Because since when had he been able to do  _ anything  _ properly? He was always too brash, too loud, too reckless. He wasn’t smart like his brothers, he wasn’t strong like his sister, he was just dumb, boring,  _ useless,  _ Dewey Duck.

And his brother was hurt,  _ because of him. _

But Dewey didn’t have time to contemplate how horrible of a person he was, because the robin had finally come to her senses again. She reached for the spear, eyes glinting with dangerous anger, and Dewey was quick to kick the object away from her grasp and over near Louie. 

Despite the fact that his throat had literally just been cut, the younger duckling seemed relatively fine (much to Dewey’s relief). Snatching the spear from the ground, Louie quickly got to work on cutting the ropes. The sharp metal dug through them easily, and Dewey decided to knock the guard out while he still could.

Waiting until the robin crept up close enough, Dewey swung his shackled legs at her knees full force. The guard crumpled, hitting her head harshly on the ground. She didn’t get up again.

Turning back to Louie, he was stunned to find the youngest triplet picking the lock of their shackles with a  _ spear.  _ Admittedly, the locks were rather large (Dewey suspected that the shackles weren’t made for children), but he still could barely wrap his mind around the action as the heavy chains around Louie’s ankles came loose.

Soon, Dewey was also freed.

Standing on shaky legs, he rubbed his wrists, ignoring the painful sting of rope burn. Louie came to stand next to him, the front of his hoodie beginning to stain red as blood oozed from his neck. Forcing down a gag at the sight, Dewey quickly turned away.

“We should be heading back,” he said, “I know the other guards must have heard us, and I’m sure Mom and everybody is worried sick.”

_ ‘I hope so anyway.’ _

Nodding, Louie dug into his hoodie pocket and fished out his phone. The screen was cracked all over (something that bothered Louie immensely if his scowl was anything to go off of), but it luckily still turned on. As they waited for the loading screens to pass, the two began to push their way through the forest.

-

“Louie? Where are you? Everyone is worried sick and-“

“Huey,” Dewey cut in, watching his baby brother warily out of the corner of his eye. The duckling was resting heavily against him, eyes half-lidded as he stumbled over scattered ferns and branches. “It’s Dew. Louie’s hurt, and I’m pretty sure we still have angry tribal people following behind us.”

“Where are you?” The oldest triplet asked, sounding completely calm and sure of himself. Though Dewey knew he was probably freaking out inside just as much as he was.

Pausing, Dewey looked around warily. They had been walking for at least an hour already, getting turned around because all of the trees looked the same. Their surroundings really didn’t give off much about their location, and it was too dark for Dewey to see anything other than outlines of trees and bushes.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, “it’s too dark to see much of anything by now. We’re still in the forest though.”

Huey cursed, “okay, Uncle Scrooge said he’s going to have Launchpad fly overhead. Just stay on the call until then and-“

The phone beeped, showing a dead battery screen before turning black.

_ ‘Of course,’  _ Dewey thought dryly,  _ ‘why not?’ _

Sliding the phone back into Louie’s pocket, Dewey let out a large yawn. He was exhausted, and all he could think about was getting back home and curling up in bed, with Uncle Donald and Mom kissing him goodnight and telling far too many bed-time stories.

He was starting to see why Huey always complained about being stressed.

Being responsible was  _ hard,  _ and being responsible for another person? Well, Dewey had already messed that up. But Huey did it everyday, with no breaks, for  _ two  _ people. Including a reckless, and frankly self-destructive one.

It was a wonder the duckling hadn’t lost it yet.

Pushing away the panic forming in his stomach, Dewey gripped onto his brother and continued forward. He didn’t know if Louie was even aware of the phone call, let alone what was happening, and Dewey would take any chance to spare his brother from the horrible panic gnawing at him from the inside.

_ ‘This is your fault,’  _ he reminded himself,  _ ‘focus on Louie, he’s more important.’ _

The wind had picked up after the sun set, hitting them with cold air that bit at their exposed skin. Despite his hoodie, Louie was shivering against Dewey’s side. Huey would probably say something smart, like how blood loss caused people to get cold faster.

Except, maybe that was actually true…

Pulling to a stop next to a particularly sturdy tree (Dewey had no idea what kind, that was still Huey’s thing), he propped Louie against it. The younger duckling quickly pulled his hoodie over his legs, pulling his arms into the sleeves. If it were  _ any  _ other situation, Dewey probably would have laughed.

“Hey Lou?” He muttered, slipping off his t-shirt (still leaving behind the long sleeve, because it was  _ freezing),  _ and started gently wiping away at the blood around Louie’s neck.

The younger duckling looked over to him, eyes slightly dazed but at least a bit aware, “yeah?”

“Do you…” Dewey wondered briefly if he should even ask, because maybe he was just going to come off as stupid again. But Louie was literally  _ bleeding out  _ in front of him, and Dewey had no idea what to do. “Do you know how I can give you some of my blood? Like, do you  _ drink  _ it or-“

_ “What?”  _

“I-well,” He didn’t really have an excuse, he was desperate and  _ Dewey,  _ was Louie really surprised that he was being dumb? “Sorry…”

Louie groaned, “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that Dew, you’d need equipment or something. Plus, what are you even planning on doing?  _ Cutting yourself open?” _

That had been the plan, but now Dewey was unsure that it was anything but an excuse to be destructive.

“God, okay,” Louie muttered, seeing the guilt on Dewey’s face, “ignoring the fact that cutting yourself open is  _ wildly  _ self-destructive, it wouldn’t even work. Next idea?”

_ ‘That was it,’  _ Dewey thought miserably, slumping down on the ground in front of his brother,  _ ‘that was all I had, and it was stupid. I can’t do this, I’m not smart enough. I’m going to get Louie killed, and I can’t do this, I can’t, I-‘ _

Dewey didn’t realize he was panicking until his chest started to burn.

Attempting to suck in a breath only led him to start coughing, and suddenly nothing else mattered because he  _ couldn’t breathe.  _ All he could think about was the fact that his lungs were burning, and Louie was probably  _ dying,  _ and they were  _ alone,  _ and Dewey  _ couldn’t do this  _ because he was  _ Dewey. _

“Dew?” Louie said, but he sounded much further away then he had been before, “Dew, look at me.”

_ ‘I can’t,’  _ Dewey thought,  _ ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.’ _

A hand came to rest under his chin, forcing him to look up. Louie met his gaze, no longer looking dazed (or at least he seemed much more aware then before). He had never seen his brother look so… grounded before, and it reminded him starkly of Huey when he was comforting them.

“Name five things you can see,” Louie said evenly, like he had all the time in the world.

“Ah-“ Dewey glanced around, trying to ignore the shake in his hands and the tightness in his chest as he searched for something. “Y-you, um, trees? There’s a b-bird’s nest u-up there. I-Louie it  _ hurts.” _

“I know,” the duckling said softly, and Dewey knew he was speaking from experience. Louie had definitely had his share of panic before. “But you're doing good, two more okay?”

Dewey nodded mutely, swallowing before he countinued, “um, my hand I guess? A-and your b-b-blood…”

Louie nodded, pulling up his jacket to hide the wound across his neck, “good, now four things you can feel.”

_ Could he feel?  _ Because at some point all feeling in his body seemed to drain out of him, fingers going numb. He felt detached from himself, like he was watching a movie of his life rather than living it. 

Running his hands over his undershirt, he could feel the ghost of feeling across his fingers. So, he ran with that and hoped his answers were good enough for Louie. “My shirt, the-um-the cold, your hand? I think I’m sitting on a stick.”

Louie snorted and Dewey took pride in making his little brother laugh, it was  _ something  _ at least. His chest felt looser now, but he could still feel a tightness in his chest and a shake in his hands.

“Okay,” Louie said, a ghost of a smile on his face, “three things you can hear?”

“You,” he said immediately, “um, me I guess? There’s not much else.”

His brother nodded, “that’s okay. Two things you can smell?”

“Your blood,” Dewey mumbled, feeling that guilt rising again in the back of his throat, “sorry about getting you hurt…”

“If you ask me,” Louie said, “a scratch is better than being  _ dead.” _

“Yeah,” he conceded, “but you shouldn’t have gotten hurt at all. If I just-“

Sighing, the younger duckling pulled him into a tight hug. Dewey crumbled into his grip, grasping onto the sides of his hoodie like his life depended on it. He could tell he was crying, but he didn’t bother trying to stop. It felt nice to finally let something out for once.

“I get you and Huey have this  _ thing  _ about protecting me,” Louie said, squeezing tighter as he added, “but this  _ isn’t  _ your fault okay? And you're a  _ good  _ brother, so stop pretending like you aren’t.”

Dewey felt like he’d been punched, but in a good way. Which really  _ shouldn’t  _ have been possible, but there really wasn’t a better way to describe it. Letting out a sob, he found himself glad that it was Louie with him rather than Huey. He loved his older brother (really he did), but Huey wouldn’t understand why he was so upset.

“This  _ isn’t  _ your fault,” Louie repeated, “got it?”

“Got it.”

-

It was another hour before anything of note happened.

Dewey had stopped crying after a couple of minutes, too tired and dehydrated to keep going. Neither brother let go of each other though, curling up together underneath the tree from before. It was freezing, and both of their fingers and faces had gone numb.

“Do you hear that?” Louie mumbled, half-lidded eyes glancing upward at what sounded like a loud roar up ahead.

Dewey let out a shocked laugh, “the Sunchaser! Yes! See, they didn’t forget about us!”

“How are we going to let them know we’re down here though?” Louie asked, “my phone’s dead and you left yours on the plane.”

“I could scream again,” he suggested, “though I might recommend covering your ears this time.”

The youngest triplet groaned, but brought his hands up to cover his ears. Dewey sucked in a sharp breath, hoping his meltdown from earlier didn’t affect his scream. Luckily, it worked just like it had before, and he could see Louie wince at the piercing screech.

When he ran out of breath, Dewey could feel his throat aching. He wouldn’t be able to do it again, in fact he wasn’t sure if he could even  _ talk  _ anymore. But that didn’t matter, one was enough…  _ hopefully. _

“Nice job,” the younger duckling said, rubbing his ears weakly, “you think you got Uncle Donald’s pipes?”

Dewey shrugged, but he filed the idea away for later. He liked the idea of sharing something with his Uncle, even if it was something as simple as strong vocal cords.

“Now,” Louie said bitterly, “we wait.”

-

“Dewey! Louie!”

It was Huey, the oldest triplet hurrying down a rope ladder tossed from the Sunchaser. The duckling looked  _ awful,  _ feathers ruffled and eyes tinged red with tear tracks racing down his cheeks. He looked at his brothers like they were the only things in the world, jumping the last rung to hurry over and hug them.

“I was so worried!” He hissed, “you guys were gone for  _ hours,  _ and we couldn’t find you. Then we got attacked by a bugbear, and  _ then  _ we got on call with you but it cut out halfway through and-“

Huey cut off, finally catching sight of the gash across Louie’s neck. Suddenly the redness of his eyes wasn’t just a side effect of crying, and Dewey could see the early signs of his brother’s tantrums.

He went to talk, and then remembered he  _ couldn’t.  _ His voice was still raw from screaming, and Dewey doubted Huey would listen to him anyway. The duckling always seemed to get tunnel vision when he was angry, just like their Uncle Donald.

Slapping his older brother’s arm, Dewey pointed back at the plane. They needed to get Louie to a Hospital or at least to Beakley, and they couldn’t do that if Huey lost control over his emotions.

Gritting his teeth, Huey nodded and helped Louie to his feet, “right, do you guys think you can climb? I can get Launchpad to come down here if not.”

Louie brushed him off, weakly grabbing at the ladder before beginning to climb. Knowing that Huey would want to come up last, Dewey quickly followed behind. Usually the climb was easy, and he would typically skip rungs in order to get up faster. But his limbs felt heavy, and his exhaustion dragged him into a slow rise.

_ ‘Come on,’  _ he thought desperately, his arms and legs threatening to buckle,  _ ‘just a little more.’ _

By the time he reached the plane Dewey was just about ready to collapse. His stomach cramped with hunger, and the closer he got to safety the more his body began to shut down. By the last rung Huey was pushing him up into the plane.

When he got inside, Louie was already being coddled by their Uncle Donald. The duck was applying some kind of anti-bacteria to the gash, mumbing apologies as Louie cried from the pain. Dewey could only wince in sympathy, all to aware how much cleaning wounds stung.

Della hurried over to him as Huey pulled up the rope, pulling him into her arms as she glanced over him. The worry in her eyes made him feel both guilty and relieved. It was clear at the very least that the family hadn’t forgotten about them. Snuggling into his Mom’s arms, Dewey found himself smiling.

They were safe.


End file.
